Dance with the Devil (8 page)

M
IA'S STOCKINGED FEET
were numb with cold, but impending frostbite was the least of her problems. She cast a worried glance to her right where she could hear, but not see, Jack beside her. His breathing was labored. His footsteps unsteady.

This was completely insane. What were they
thinking
climbing out of the window like that? Jack was bleeding like a stuck pig, and neither of them was dressed appropriately for scaling the side of a house.

Snow began to blow around them in a blinding rush. Thick, fluffy blobs of icy white fell faster and faster.

To make it worse, there was at least one someone else on the ledge with them. Left hand on the rough, cold stone wall, Mia took small, shuffling sideways steps and wracked her brain for a solution to their dilemma.

In the snow-blanketed garden below them prowled the ambassador's security force, as yet unaware of the drama being played out directly above their heads. But they'd likely wise up soon. Then how long before they joined their pals up here on the roof?

Even if they
could
figure out a way to slide down a drainpipe, or swing down on a nonexistent vine, that would be a bad idea. Hard to look innocent and innocuous if they landed bleeding to death in the garden.

The solution would be to find a window—unlocked of course—and climb inside. Then they'd slip out a back way somehow.

While the answer seemed simple enough, Mia knew nothing in life was that simple. It was winter. Windows would not be left open on a night like this. Besides, nobody left windows unlocked anymore.

And the simple truth was, she was terrified Jack would bleed to death up here on the ledge while they went around and around the upper floor of the house like moons orbiting Jupiter.

When she'd pulled back his jacket to gauge the damage of the bullet wound she'd been alarmed at the amount of blood staining his nicely starched white shirt. She shied away from thinking about the hole in Jack that lurked behind that stain. He needed to be in a hospital, and he needed to be there
now.
Between climbing, teetering and balancing in the snow, she was certain his condition was deteriorating right along with the weather.

What to do?

A bullet gave answer to that question. There was no sound beyond a muffled
whoosh
from the silencer. The shot went wild, thank God, but the shooter, pinpointed by the muzzle flash, was too close for comfort.

They needed to haul ass. But to where? And how?

“Don't return fire,” Jack warned in a low voice. “Our only advantage right now is they can't see us, while we have at least a vague sense of where they are.” His fingers felt along the wall between them for her hand. “How're you holding up, sweetheart?”

He was close enough for Mia to feel the heat off his body and to smell the hot metallic scent of his blood.

“Been better.” She paused as three more wild shots were fired in rapid succession. Terrifying in the darkness to see those ominous flashes, hear the whispered ricochet of a bullet pinging off the snow-covered roof. If this kept up, the ambassador's roof would be leaking come spring. “What are our options here, Jack?” she demanded urgently.

He grunted in pain. “Much as I'm enjoying our togetherness, I'd prefer to do it at my place. Let's not keep circling. So that leaves in, up or down. First option calls it. Speed it up though. This guy's going to be tripping over us PDQ.”

The first available option was up.

“I don't t-think so, Jack.” Mia said through chattering teeth. She gripped the narrow metal bar of a ladder in one hand. The ladder was attached to the side of the house and went from where they were standing on the ledge…up. How far up, she had no idea. She cautiously felt down below the ledge with her foot, while hanging on for dear life. But there was no corresponding escape route snaking down to the ground below them. “If we go on the roof there might not be a way down,” she felt compelled to point out.

“Like there's a way
now?
” he demanded.

“Yeah, fine. But in the movies, the idiot heroine always goes
up
when she should be running away.”

He chuckled and, despite her fear, it was good to hear him laugh. “But the heroine always lives, doesn't she, darling?”

“Good point. But how will you manage with your shoulder?”

“I'll manage.”

A flurry of shots lit up the area. Mia could actually see the guy's face as he realigned the muzzle in the right direction.

Shouts from below. Slender flashlight beams aimed toward the facade of the house. Crisscrossing. Searching. Scanning. Not reaching this high. But people below were coming out of the house now. Voices. Shouting. The crunch of booted feet on gravel.

“Jesus,” Jack hissed. “It's a three-ring circus down there. Fire escape ladder. Go. Go.
Go!
”

Mia went. She could practically feel Jack's hot breath on her feet as she climbed. His hand gripped the next bar before her feet left it.

She clambered up onto the flat roof, Jack a heartbeat behind her. His breath sounded ragged. She couldn't begin to imagine the pain he was enduring. Snow reflected a little light. Not much, but enough to see various dark shapes of household systems lying on the rooftop like the humps of prehistoric beasts. “Now what?” she whispered, rubbing her arms uselessly. God it was cold. The snow was falling faster now. Soft and icy on her face. “Jack?”

“Yeah. I heard you.” He wasn't shivering, Mia noticed. That wasn't a good sign. “Hang on a sec.”

He turned and kicked at the top of the ladder. He kicked again. Hard. And again. Harder. Once more, and the top of the ladder detached from its moorings with a screech. It didn't fall, but arced three feet away from the rooftop. No one was going to be coming up that way.

“Good thinking.”

Jack staggered as he came back to her side. Mia wrapped her arm about his waist, her mouth dry with fear as she got more of his weight than she'd bargained for. She too staggered before she braced herself.

“Let's double back to the bedroom.”

“What if the guy I shot is still there?”

“If he's stupid enough to still be hanging around, you can shoot him again. I have his weapon, remember?”

“Fine. Okay. Let's go.” She didn't care where or how, just that she had to get Jack downstairs and to a hospital. If it meant spending the rest of her natural life in a jail cell convicted of espionage to accomplish that goal, so be it.

The noise of activities far below muffled their footsteps as did the snow. Their long legs were in sync as they ran back the way they'd come.

“About here?” Mia paused on the edge of the roof.

“Farther.”

They ran. The roof, icy slick, made their progress dangerous and painstaking slow. The ground security forces were well behind them now, still searching the side of the building they'd been on moments before. Or possibly already on their way up to the roof. The bad guys who'd been a lot closer would find a way up here soon.

Heart in her throat, Mia saw the bathroom vent sticking up at the same time Jack did. “Bingo. Hold onto me for a sec—” When Jack grasped her arm with his good one, she leaned precariously over the side for a look.

She pulled herself upright. “The window's still open. It's about eight feet down. I think if we lower ourselves, we can stand on the frame and swing into the bathroom. Ready?”

“You are, aren't you?” he asked, his voice thick.

“Are what?”

“Ready,” he repeated. “You're ready and rarin' to go.”

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “So what's the holdup?”

“Just one thing before we head back in.”

“Jack,” Mia shot a glance at the ground below. “Now really isn't the time for a chat.”

“It's the perfect time for one of
our
chats, darling.” He grinned, then winced as he shifted to take hold of her despite the wound in his shoulder.

“Jack…” She tossed another quick look behind them.

“Mia, marry me.”

She almost got whiplash turning back to him.
“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You're proposing
now?
”

Jack stared at her and his heart kicked into a wild gallop. He'd been afraid of saying the words for so long and now that he'd said them, they felt…
right.
He loved her. He'd missed her every damn minute she'd been out of his life. Even the action was no fun without her.

But God only knew, he was braced for her to shoot him down in flames. He lost all feeling in his body as he prepared himself for the worst. What the hell could he say to convince her? How could he beg her to stay? What would
make
her stay? “I love you, Mia.”

“Careful. I may fall off the roof.”

“I'll dive right after you.”

She stared at him for a long minute, brushing falling snow out of her eyes. “You're only asking because you think we're going to die and you won't have to go through with a wedding, aren't you?”

“No. I'm proposing now because I'm ready to live. I'm asking because without you, I might as well let that unibrow guy shoot me stone dead. I love you, darling, and God only knows I need you. Hell, even the job is no fun without you beside me, keeping me on my toes.”

“You're serious.”

“Damn straight.”

He pulled her hard against him with the arm wrapped about her waist, then he crushed his mouth down on hers. His mouth was a liquid furnace. Hot, savage, hungry. A bolt of fire shot through her body as she stood up on her frozen toes to kiss him back with everything that was in her. Jack could take her from frozen to flashpoint in two-seconds flat.

He slid his hand up the back of her neck and tunneled his fingers through her damp hair. She wanted to curl into his warmth, stay in his arms forever—

“Jack,” she murmured against his mouth, “I love you—”

“How perfect is that?” His voice was whisper soft as he nibbled her lower lip. Hungry little nips that caused her body to respond instinctively. Her hands tightened about his neck. Against her midriff she felt the hot seep of Jack's blood soaking through the thin silk of her dress.

“Just one more—”

“Stay right where you are,” a rough voice said out of the darkness.

Mia froze, her mouth still locked with Jack's. The muzzle of a pistol ground into her temple. Wouldn't you know it? He'd finally proposed and she was going to die before she could say yes.

She'd always known Jack would be the death of her.

“H
AND OVER THE DISK
,
or I'll shoot the girl.” The man's voice was thick and guttural. And horribly familiar. “This time I'm not gonna give you the courtesy of countin'.”

“You're going down,” Jack snarled. To
Mia,
not Uni. He hoped to God she got it, because before either she or the man with the gun at her head knew what was happening, Jack pushed Mia out of the way and spun around. In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed the guy's beefy right shoulder with his left, weakest, hand. Then Jack jerked Uni off his feet with the other arm around his thick neck and pulled him down to the snow-crusted rooftop.

They both went down hard. Jack saw sparkles as he fell on his bad shoulder. His wound screamed. Before the other man could recover, Jack straddled the bastard with his weapon in the man's face. Uni didn't make a peep.

Though he would have enjoyed putting a bullet into the guy, he settled for the alternate use of his weapon. Jack popped him one on the side of the head and the guy went limp beneath him for the second time that night.

A good thing since reinforcements were thundering across the flat rooftop like wildebeest on the Savannah.
“Go. Go. Go!”
Jack yelled to Mia.

He grabbed her by the arm. Damn it, what was taking her so long? “Brace yourself!” he shouted and swung her over the edge of the roof, still gripping her arm.

Mia bent her knees and then dropped over the side of the building. She dangled as she felt for the edge of the open window with her foot. She was grateful for how tightly Jack was gripping her wrist, and very glad she couldn't see the ground. Where the hell was that window? Her entire body swung like a slow-moving pendulum from side to side.

Side…to…side.

The skin around her wrist stretched painfully and she knew Jack was holding her full weight while lying prone on the very edge of the roof above her. This must be hurting him a hundred times worse than it was hurting her. Come on, damn it. Where was the—

There! She released the breath she'd been holding and brought both feet to rest on the solid frame of the window ledge. “Got it,” she whispered up to Jack as she steadied herself on the precarious perch.

“Then get in and get out of my way—
Damn!
”

Mia heard the shots the same time Jack did, followed by heavy, muffled footsteps of several people running toward their position full speed, weapons blazing. Nice and subtle.
Not.

“Move it, Jack! You're not getting out of marrying me this easily. Get down here!” With more haste than skill, Mia swung herself into the open window, then turned to lean out and help him.

His feet came in first, followed by his long body. With the propulsion of a guy being shot out of a cannon, he landed with more enthusiasm than finesse. His trajectory sent them crashing and sliding into the pale pink marble tub like beached whales. Arms and legs tangled.

But they were
alive.

Jack looked up from his position of head smashed between her boobs. His face was sweaty, his skin parchment-pale, eyes shadowed with pain. But he grinned as he stroked a finger down her cheek. “Hello, darling. Come here often?”

Mia laughed, and boy, it felt good to laugh with Jack again. “Idiot. Come on. Let's get the hell out of here before
everyone
comes flying through that window.”

They untangled their limbs and got out of the tub with some difficulty. Compared to their run across the rooftop under fire, this was a piece of cake. Mia closed the window firmly, locking it, while Jack went to scope out the bedroom.

Empty. Their friends had taken their toys and disappeared. There was a blossom of a bloodstain on the carpet right in front of the door. Mia shivered and averted her gaze.

She found a white shirt for Jack and helped him into it; his own shirt was soaked with dark red blood. The wound in his shoulder still seeped at an alarming rate, and he was sweating, while Mia still couldn't feel her extremities from the cold.

She tucked a small, folded hand towel against the wound, helped him button the shirt, then slipped his jacket back on.

“What's the plan?” she asked, slipping on the shoes she'd kicked off what seemed like days ago. She winced and worried her frozen toes would snap off.

“First we find a convenient bedroom to muss up—just in case we have to explain our absence. Preferably something on the other side of the house. Then we saunter downstairs as if nothing happened and walk out.”

He talked a good game, but she wondered if he'd be able to walk down the hall, let alone “saunter.” Then she remembered that this was Jack Ryan, a man who wouldn't know the meaning of “quit.” “That easy?”

“You bet.” He opened the door with a decidedly shaky hand. “Let's do it.”

“I'm not going to have to carry you, am I?” she asked, trying not to show just how concerned she was.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe over the threshold later.”

Threshold. Wedding. Marriage.

She grinned at him. “Stay put,” she told him casually. “I'll go find another room to muss and come back for you.” She expected him to protest. It worried her even more when he
didn't.

“Don't be long.”

Mia flew down the landing. Hearing the chatter of party guests and the clinking of glasses from the floor below was surreal. She forced herself to slow her steps and go as far down the private corridor as her nerves could stand before opening a bedroom door. It only took a moment to rumple the bedspread and punch the pillows. Then she raced back down the corridor to where she'd left Jack.

She found him slumped in the chair near the door. He was clearly struggling to stay conscious, but he opened glassy eyes as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

“Ready to rock?” she asked, helping him stand with difficulty.

“Call, Robert. Have him come upst—”

Oh, God. He wanted his driver. This was bad. Really bad. “Phone?”

“Inside p-pocket. Speed d—eigh—eighteen.” He fell back into the chair and closed his eyes.

Mia knelt between his spread legs and patted his pockets looking for his cell phone. Her fingers were clumsy with panic, but she found the tiny phone, flipped it open and hit
18.

It rang. And rang. And
rang.

“As long as you're kneeling there…” He lifted one eyebrow.

Mia shook her head. “You're impossible.”

“Insatiable,” Jack licked dry lips. “Help me up.” He slung his arm around her neck. “Whoa! Steady t-there.”

Mia staggered on her high heels under his weight. “You outweigh me by eighty pounds, pal.”

“All muscle.”

“Yeah, between your ears.” She wanted to distract him from what must be nearly mind-numbing pain. She kept him teasing as she guided him down the hall to the stairs.

“Is that any way to talk to your future husband?”

“Mom always said to bend a man's twig in the direction you want him to grow.”

He chuckled. “Twig bending? Sounds pornographic.”

“Then you should love it.”

“Wanna see my twig?”

“It's
my
twig now, buster.”

“True. My twig is your twig.”

They made it down the stairs. Barely. Jack's hard head was the only thing keeping him upright. And they still had to get across the large room to the front door.

“And where have you two lovebirds been?” Sandy asked archly. She was standing right at the foot of the stairs, a finger of brandy in her glass and a plate of canapés in her other hand. “Where's that dance you promised me, you rat?”

“Rain check, beautiful,” Jack gave her a sleepy grin. “I have to get my girl home before she turns into a pumpkin.”

Sandy grinned. “Is your sweetie a little smashed?”

Mia gave the other woman a meaningful look and wrapped her arm more tightly around Jack's waist making sure his side was tucked against hers. “Drunk on love, Sandy. I'll call you in a couple of days.”

“One more dance before we go,” Jack insisted, wrapping both arms around her. It took all Mia's strength to hold him up.

“We'll dance at home, honey.” She refused to let him stay here where he could bleed to death on the polished parquet floor.

By the time they reached the front door, her dress was saturated with Jack's blood and her arms were screaming for mercy. Fortunately they looked the epitome of a romantic couple as they clung to each other wordlessly. Thank God no one stopped to talk.

“Don't you dare die on me, Jack Ryan,” Mia growled as someone let the front door swing open in their wake. “Don't you
dare.
” The door closed leaving the two of them standing under the portico. A limo, several yards away, flashed its lights.

Robert. Thank God.

“You're marrying me,” she told Jack sternly. “I want the whole nine yards. Flowers, preacher, music, bunny hop,
everything.
Besides, I have about sixty-five years of flack to give you for this blind date from hell. So don't take the easy way—” He sagged against her. “Oh, thank God,” Mia breathed a sigh of relief as Jack's driver stepped up and grabbed him from the other side. “I think he fainted.”

“Passed out, darling. Passed out. Men don't faint, for God's sake. And I haven't,” Jack muttered as Mia and his driver folded him into the back seat of the car. “You're going to remind me about tonight every year on our anniversary, aren't you?” Jack asked as the car flew down Massachusetts Avenue and away from Embassy Row.

“And twice on Sundays,” Mia told him sweetly, cradling his head on her lap and brushing back his hair.

Jack sighed. “Good.” Eyes closed, he stroked her leg. “I have candles at my place. And champagne on ice. I wanted to do the whole proposal thing right—”

So he'd known he was going to propose before their evening had even started. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “A proposal in the snow, with bullets flying and bad guys chasing us across rooftops? What could be more romantic than that?”

He smiled against her thigh as Robert stepped on the gas and headed for the hospital at illegal speeds. “I always knew you were my woman, Mia.”

He rose up awkwardly to kiss her. Mia bent her head to meet him halfway. “And don't you forget it.” Their lips met with aching tenderness.

“Gonna pass out now,” Jack warned as his head dropped back to her lap and his eyes drifted shut. “Don' go, 'K? Love you…all my life.”

“I love you, too, you impossible man. Rest now. I'll be right there when you wake up.”

And she was. As Jack had known she would be.